The Lost Year

"2012 is a lost year. No memories in photo, no talks written in a cyberspace or yellow sheets with the same illegible characters of a hand-letter traced in the morning. I don't know if my bungling or the indetermination to finish an idea is the responsible to make incomprehensible any reality or change a dream to a unreal hankering.  It was February and the latest words to finish the night arrives to say that it is not possible a world with these kind of people. At same time, the existence of them is imperative to be better in contradiction. So, what about the future in a better morning? The songs are nocturnal melodies and there are not any minutes for silence.

Sometimes, inspiration is sufficient to find a line to write the feeling in words or traces in the snow, in the sand. Words appear to change the world in clear phrases to describe the better and the worst of the existence in a tale where the honor and the horror are confused until the end, to exalt the life and not the death. However, more and more those moments are rare, motivation changes inspiration and just discipline allows to support the everydayness. Yes, in a mental orgasm my body (in a dream) returns to your tongue. And my spirit is in space. Do you remember the last time that I was in your mouth? No time for tears, just the possibility to find the silence after the flavor of my sex and sweat. However, there are phrases of a lost story in a bar.

When the songs being to be old? Twenty years ago, the dreams of the world (in hope) are in the stars. Today, all people thinks in survive, same the children and the old-men guilty of this mess. It is possible to write other past but the Today hours of incertitude are sufficient to known the origin of his times. In the lost years (not just one) we made love without any terror and the war was a far speech. Blood or death, they are not important because our eyes were enough. Alone, the responsibility is confused with impatience and I hope more than a skin. Lips and words, flashes of a look in the dark and a smile. The taste of wine and tobacco and your sex, and yes, your name. And your wings and your angry attitude in the smoke night in Puerto Viejo. Your moans.

Four years, three years have passed. With the correct order it is possible to write a motivated phrase for the days of noise. Of course, the phrase is a part of an idea expressed in more of a simple set of characters in a screen. Alone, the human being is face to face a destiny. And the final goal is to not meet any destination. Why? It is necessary to confronte the imposed reality. And I can find the excuse, to do not say the new word for you, my angry bird. And I think that the best time was with you, but the quest (said in other stories as a cry in the forest) it's your decision. May be tomorrow is to late and I start another new memories to challenge the present. I'm here tonight you know the origin of the point and the coordinates sent in a bottle message. 

Where the wise rest. Then years ago, the return was an option to find love and dare tales. Love is lost and the challenges are insupportable because the human ego is the main wall to broke or climb. In other times, the restriction are natural challenges or clearly evil situations. "Evil". I need the song for this night after the wine, it is just Wednesday and I think that February is a bizarre month if there are not snow and mountains. What love in fourteen? I need the snow and the cold mountain and if it is possible the smoke after the powder and a beer. The moon and a rock and roll song in a quiet night in fatigue. Or in most recent times, a gentlemen story in Mexico City after two tequilas and a villa with your body. Excitation-Inspiration. "